


Aggravated Assault

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Series: Catch Me If You Can [3]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Foreplay, Loss of Powers, M/M, Power Dynamics, Seduction, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 15:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16307963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: "Gotta say," Snart drawls, "I like it. Having you all helpless and at my mercy. Unable to run off on me."(Snart promised Barry retaliation. This may be the worst time for him to make good on his threats. Or the best.)





	Aggravated Assault

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Napaść z bronią w ręku](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16920216) by [Lampira7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lampira7/pseuds/Lampira7)



> Thanks to my lovely friend S. for the beta and the reassurance! ♥

 

It's a measure of Barry's tiredness that he doesn't notice he's not alone until he feels the kiss of cool metal against his bare neck. A shiver crawls down his spine in response, goose-bumps rising on his arms.

"I don't know what's more disappointing. The atrocious security at S.T.A.R. Labs or your _painful_ lack of alertness." 

The Cold Gun, which should be stored under lock and key in a vault down in the pipeline where they safeguarded it after Barry stole it from Snart, whirs to life with a buzzing noise. The shock of cold from where the muzzle is pressing against his skin makes Barry jump. 

Despite their positions and the wordless threat of pointing a deadly piece of weaponry right at where it could cause irreparable damage, Snart's tone is almost conversational. The drawl is lazy and condescending in a way that shouldn't be nearly as appealing as it is, but Snart putting on the Captain Cold voice always gets under Barry's skin in all the wrong ways.

Barry swallows. His arms flex where he's leaning on the desk in front of him, but he suppresses the urge to turn around and face Snart, forcing himself to stay perfectly still. 

"Sorry to disappoint, I'm not really at the top of my game right now." 

"Ah, yes. Didn't miss the headlines. _Flash Slowed Down! Central's Hero Suspiciously Absent After Chinatown Showdown!_ " Snart quotes the news with an extra flare of drama, making them sound ridiculously over the top rather than scary and all too real. He clicks his tongue. "A hit with the bookmakers, too. Whether or not Flash will get his powers back is the hottest bet in town right now."

So Snart _does_ know. 

Some of the tension bleeds out of Barry's shoulders. He hadn't been sure if the news had travelled, wondering if he should point out that without his speed and his increased healing, a blast from the Cold Gun was bound to freeze him more... permanently than Snart might intend. 

Perhaps Barry is being foolish and gullible, but he trusts Snart with the knowledge of how vulnerable he is right now, trusts him not to pull the trigger when it would effectively mean shooting to kill. They've come a long way since that night on the rail tracks.

"What are the odds?" Barry wants to know, genuinely curious.

There's a minuscule pause before Snart answers. "Let's just say people don't have an abundance of faith in your recovery."

Barry winces. "That bad, huh?"

He almost turns, but Snart presses the Cold Gun down harder, a none-too-subtle warning for Barry to stay put. He lets his head drop forward in an effort to ease the pressure and get away from the freezing metal. All it does is make him feel more exposed. Snart steps closer, until Barry feels the heat of another body behind him, a stark contrast to the cold the gun is emitting even without firing.

Still, he all but jumps when Snart's hand settles at his waist, catching the sliver of naked skin where his shirt has rode up. The touch is frosty – smooth leather gloves rather than bare hands, cool from handling the gun – and yet it makes Barry feel like he's burning up.

He sharply pulls in air, trying to calm his racing nerves.

"Gotta say," Snart drawls, "I like it. Having you all helpless and at my mercy. Unable to run off on me."

And that's— _Fuck_. It should be scary. Being vulnerable and exposed like this before an enemy who's all but announced that he plans to take advantage. The satisfied edge in Snart's voice at Barry's situation. 

But they're more than just _enemies_ these days, something that defies being labeled, and the knot in the bottom of Barry's stomach isn't fear. He remembers the feeling of Snart's lips against his own, the velvety mixture of threat and promise in Snart's tone when he told Barry he'd come after him for stealing the Cold Gun.

Snart's thumb is drawing tiny circles on Barry's skin, dipping beneath the waistband of his jeans. A needy little sound escapes Barry's throat, unbidden. As soon as it's out, Barry immediately wishes he could take it back, embarrassment heating his cheeks. It's almost a miracle Snart doesn't tease him for it.

"If I put down the gun, will you behave?"

 _Jesus._

Barry closes his eyes and nods, not trusting his voice.

Snart steps away, and Barry resists the impulse to move. He's rewarded by the return of those devastatingly clever hands against his skin, and this time Snart isn't wearing gloves. His fingers are warm and calloused, firm on Barry's sides as he spins Barry around to face him.

Barry lets himself be manhandled without resistance, lets Snart push him up against the desk and kick his legs apart to step between them. Crowding him, close enough that Barry can make out the individual raindrops clinging to the fur of Snart's parka and smell his aftershave, close enough to see the way his dilated pupils make his eyes go darker.

Despite not having his powers, the sense of being cut off from the Speed Force like a physical loss, Barry could almost swear he feels electricity crackling between them. The moment stretches, tension building that itches underneath Barry's skin. 

Snart's eyes drop to his mouth, and Barry realizes that he's been sucking his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it. For once, the carefully blank mask of cool amusement that seems to be Captain Cold's default expression has slipped. Snart is looking at Barry with unconcealed hunger, and his fingers flex against Barry's hips. 

Barry doesn't know what he's waiting for, his heart beating up a storm in his chest, want and need and nerves and excitement making him light-headed. Snart seems to be content to see how far the tension between them will be able to stretch until it snaps, but Barry's never been good at being patient.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks, reaching out to clench a fist in the lapel of that stupid fucking parka and pulling Snart in for a kiss. It's fierce and desperate, much like their first kiss. Only this time Barry has no ulterior motive, no intention of stopping before they see this through.

He makes a small noise of protest when Snart only kisses back for a few seconds before angling his head backwards, effectively cutting Barry off. 

"Barry, Barry, Barry. Didn't you promise to be a good boy?" Snart taunts, a satisfied smirk on his lips – as if he knows exactly how eager Barry is, and takes every bit as much joy in denying him as he does in pulling a successful job under the Flash's nose.

He brings up one hand to Barry's jaw, thumbing his bruised lip and forcing Barry's head backwards until his spine is a taut curve and his neck is bared for Snart. 

"I can be good." Breathless promises tumble from Barry's mouth before he can stop himself. "Dammit, Snart, I can be so good for you. Let me show you. Just let me— _Oh, fuck_!"

Snart's mouth is on his throat, hot and wet and demanding, the raspy edges of his stubble dragging along Barry's adam's apple. It's almost overwhelming, painfully pleasant against the sensitive skin, and Barry arches into the touch. Snart's hands turn greedy. Sliding upwards underneath Barry's shirt, they roughly map out Barry's skin.

It feels amazing until Snart pulls Barry towards him, fingers tightening against Barry's ribs, sending a burst of acute pain shooting through Barry's torso that momentarily sucks all air from his lungs. 

Barry lets out a pained little cry. 

It's brief and quiet, but loud enough for Snart to notice. He draws back, eyes narrowed speculatively. He lifts Barry's shirt, frowning at what Barry, without looking down, knows is a spectacular bruise, dark violet and spanning across the entire right side of his ribcage from his front to his back. 

Snart gingerly trails his fingertips over the marred skin, more carefully than Barry's ever seen Snart handle anything, including his precious gun and priceless artifacts he'd stolen. 

"Broken rib?"

Barry doesn't meet his gaze. "Two, actually. I would have healed already if... you know." 

He shrugs a little too aggressively, setting off another volley of pain. He forgot how fragile and _slow_ his body is when he doesn't have accelerated healing, how long the injuries from his battles linger. As the Flash, he barely ever feels the physical consequences of fighting other metas, much less regular criminals. As a depowered Barry Allen, it's another matter entirely.

The other man lets his palm rest against the bruise. The touch is soothing and gentle, almost tender, in a way Barry struggles to associate with Leonard Snart. When Barry looks up at him, his expression is closed-off, unreadable.

"I changed my mind. The whole 'helpless and at my mercy' thing has its drawbacks. I think I prefer you being your usual perky, annoyingly do-gooder self."

Letting Barry's shirt drop to cover the injury again, he withdraws and takes a step backwards. 

Barry isn't sure whether Snart suddenly finding himself a set of morals is endearing or infuriating. It doesn't help that there's a small nagging voice at the back of his head that sounds like fucking Eobard Thawne, reminding him that _of course_ Snart doesn't want him like this, because Barry without his powers is nothing special. It's stupid and defeatist, and he thought he left those insecurities behind a long time ago. But they're hard to shake off when he can't be sure if he'll ever get his powers back, Snart's words from earlier about people betting against him ringing in his mind. It's enough to kill his arousal.

He cautiously slides off the desk, crossing his arms in front of himself in a way that lets him hide the steadying hands he puts against his ribs from Snart's sharp, intent gaze. 

"You're really gonna be squeamish about a little bruising, Snart? Since when are you so bent on fighting fair?" 

If he sounds a little bitter, so what?

Snart tilts his head and gives Barry a long, considering look. "It's true, I wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of your situation if I was pulling a job. But that's business, and this? Is not. Here's the thing, Barry: We've been headed down this way for a while now. Would be a shame to have to hold back when it's finally happening." 

He closes the distance between them again, standing so close that his open parka brushes against Barry's shirt. It makes Barry want to close those last few inches again and get back to where they left off. He swallows and looks away.

"If I gotta handle you with kid gloves, it's only half the fun. For either of us. I don't mind mixing a little pain with the pleasure, leave you a little roughed up, but not because some asshole broke your bones and you didn't give yourself time to heal. If you're covered in bruises when we're done, I'm gonna be the one who put them there."

Barry huffs. "Dream on," he shoots back, but he can't deny that Snart's words send more than a little thrill through his body at the sheer possessiveness of Snart wanting to mark him. 

Snart's mouth twists into a smirk. "We'll see."

It sounds like a promise. Lately, all of Snart's threats do.

He turns on his heel and picks up the Cold Gun from where it's sitting on one of the chairs.

"If you're really interested in a do-over, you could always leave that here," Barry suggests.

He's half-serious, even though he knows it's never going to happen. Snart throws his head back and laughs, one of those rare moments of genuine amusement Snart allows others to glimpse, and Barry can't quite help but smile along with him, despite knowing it's at his expense. 

"Nice try, kid." Snart slips the gun into his thigh holster with a satisfied smile. "You ever want to give thievery a proper go, here's a lesson for you: It ain't enough to steal something, you gotta know how to keep it, too."

Barry wonders if they're still talking about the gun or something else entirely. "I'll bear that in mind. If I ever manage to steal something worth keeping."

He holds the other man's blue-eyed, amused gaze with challenge in his eyes until Snart inclines his head, acknowledging Barry's point. He turns to leave, but before making his exit, he faces Barry again. 

Perhaps it's just a trick of the light, but Barry would almost swear that Snart's smile has grown warmer, and he thinks he can hear a certain fondness in his drawl.

"Better get some rest, Flash. I got twenty grand riding on your _speedy_ recovery. And you know how much I hate losing."

Barry ducks his head and smiles as the doors slide shut behind Snart.

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Those two are so stubborn!!! This was never supposed to be a series to begin with, and then it was supposed to be three parts, but they won't behave and let me wrap this thing up. Well, next time. ~~Maybe.~~


End file.
